


clint barton is brilliantly romantic (in a dumbass kinda way)

by starquills



Series: Winterhawk Ficlets [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Established Relationship, M/M, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starquills/pseuds/starquills
Summary: Clint Barton is a walking human disaster; Bucky Barnes is going to marry the hell out of him as soon as he asks.





	clint barton is brilliantly romantic (in a dumbass kinda way)

“This looks bad,” Clint sighs, hands held up as he walks into the range, in doing so displaying the battered bouquet of roses that he’s carrying with him.

Bucky fires off his final round of shots, forming a perfectly straight line down the target, and then putting the safety on. He tucks the firearm into the back of his sweatpants, because apparently Tony’s safety procedures are made to be ignored.

He tilts his head to one side, strands of hair falling forward from the half-hearted bun he’s shoved it into at the back of his head, and Clint just about _dies,_ his next sentence catching in his throat because _come on_ this just isn’t fair. Bucky isn’t allowed to look this good without trying, when he’s gone to the most effort he’s potentially ever put into his appearance and he’s still somehow ended up looking like a tragic disaster.

“Kinda does,” is the response he receives and Clint groans, dropping his arms and letting the sad looking flowers smack off his hip, more than a dozen deep red petals breaking off and falling down to the floor, almost as though they’re mocking him.

Bucky takes a step forward, fingers poking at the pocket on the front of Clint’s suit jacket that’s half-hanging off, ripped all the way down one side and displaying the bright purple lining.

Clint’s eyes go wide as he stares down at the pocket. He thrusts the bunch of roses at Bucky who takes them quickly, and then his hands are doing a frantic pat-down of his jacket which doesn’t stop until he lands on whatever he’s searching for and lets out a long sigh – quite probably of relief. 

“Everything okay?” The brunet asks, halfway between confused and amused given the current turn of events.

“Is now,” Clint shrugs and _there’s_ that goddamn beautiful lopsided smile of his that Bucky loves so dearly; spreading its way lazily across his lips and brightening his whole face with it. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky takes himself a little closer to Clint, metal fingers reaching out and tugging on the sorry excuse for a lapel that’s been left on the blond’s suit jacket and pulling him closer; that final half-step that has them firmly in one another’s personal space; close enough that if either of them were to talk again, it’s entirely possible that their lips are going to brush together.

They share a short kiss, and normally – well, normally Bucky would push for more and end up giving the security cameras some material that Stark will probably be horrified by, if he glances through the feed, - but this time he’s more than somewhat distracted by the way one of Clint’s hands is fumbling through the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Got something better to be doin’ right about now?” Bucky asks, well-worn cocky smirk adorning his lips while one eyebrow is carefully raised, mock-exasperation heavy in his tone.

“Sorry, sorry,” Clint mutters, shaking his head at himself as he often does. “Just one sec, Buck. I swear.”

He rolls his eyes but somehow the action is disgustingly fond, taking a step back as Clint finally gets his fingers wrapped around whatever it is that he’s been so desperate to catch a hold of. (Bucky has his suspicions, about what it is, given the unusual protrusion of the pocket it’s coming from, but the first rule of knowing Clint Barton is that the man is anything but predictable, so he’s not going to pin his hopes onto the idea just yet.)

“I, uh,” One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his head; an all-too familiar sign that he’s nervous, while with the other he appears to be attempting to hide the box in his palm; as though his hand is generally broad enough to cover the on-brand bright purple of the velvet and, oh – perhaps that means Bucky can pin his hopes onto this, after all.

“This is where I’m supposed to say I had this whole speech worked out, right?” Clint starts, eyes meeting Bucky’s once more, “And then I add in some bullshit about how now, standing in front of you now, I can’t remember a single thing, yeah? That’s how it happens in movies.”

Bucky blows out a breath, “This ain’t exactly a rom-com, sweetheart,” He says taking a light-hearted approach to the disasters that their lives have been, much as he normally does, and if in doing he’s totally so ignoring the way that his heart is beating just a little bit faster, then what’s anyone gonna say about it?

“True,” Clint shrugs, “I kinda don’t have anything planned to say, though. And my poor attempt to buy time hasn’t exactly inspired anything, either.” 

He opens his hand up; the box is somewhat battered; corners worn and an obvious scorch mark somehow sitting on top, which the archer grimaces down at it. “There was an incident,” He says, gesturing at the evidence of it that he’s wearing, and smoothing his thumb over ruined patches of velvet as though he can magically fix it, “I had to go pick this up from Tony, and he wanted to show me some new arrows he’s been working on, and – yeah, incident.”

Bucky means to listen to his rambling; he really does, but he can’t help but let his focus be tracked onto the ring that Clint is pulling from the box; in perfect condition, in spite of the ordeal that’s apparently happened in this space of the _hour_ that he and Clint have been apart 

And because Clint is a _perfect, brilliant, awful_ dork; he skips all hopes of a potentially traditional proposal, and instead holds the bright silver up between the two of them; waggling it back and forth somewhat so that it catches the light.

“It’s magnetic,” He almost sing-songs. “In this weird special kinda way that’ll cling to you.”

“Is it now?” Bucky asks – ignoring the tell-tale prickling in the back of his eyes, and the growing lump in his throat because this is all very romantic, in a wonderfully dumbass Clint kind of way.

“Guess I’d better wear it then, huh?” He adds, and _god,_ they could try to wipe him all over again but there’s not a chance in hell he’s gonna forget the way that Clint smiles at that; bright and beautiful and everything Bucky’s ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Attempt number 3 of writing winterhawk; I'm still somewhat unsure about whether I'm getting them in character or not, but hopefully it'll probably take me a couple more of these short drabbles before I'm properly confident with them and then I'll move onto some longer (potentially multi-chapter!) works.
> 
> Let me know if you have any prompts you'd want me to write for them?


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